Page 111 of Seeing Grayscale

I’m a secret, after all, it’s not like I can ask anyone where he is. Dr. Perry's is the only other number I have saved in my phone. I doubt he’ll know where Hunter is or why he hasn’t called me or texted.

I glance down at the clock on my phone, noting it’s a little after 1 am. It’s the nextday.

Where are you, Hunter?

Waiting for another thirty minutes, I double-check that the doors are locked, and then I head upstairs. I climb into Hunter’s bed, curling on my side, and call him again. It doesn’t even ring—it goes straight to voicemail. I listen to his soothing voice, wait for the beep, and leave a message.

“It’s…me. Where are you? Are you okay? I—I don’t know who to call or what to do. P-Please just…c-call me, o-okay?” I’m crying. “Call me.”

Hanging up before embarrassing myself, I double check that the ringer is on and stuff the phone between the pillow and my cheek. The sheets smell like his soap, so I inhale deeply, stuffing the fabric into my nostrils. A million thoughts run through my head, and at some point, I doze off. I’m startled awake by the garage door opening.

My body jack-knifes up, and I all but fall out of the bed. Thundering down the stairs, I round the corner and stop dead when an unfamiliar man stands in the kitchen.

He’s short with neat blonde hair. Thin, red glasses perch on his nose, and the tie around his neck hangs loose. My hackles rise, eyes darting to the knife block by the toaster, and just as I’m going to make a move for it, the man slumps into a bar stool and shoves his face in his hands. The glasses shoot up his forehead, and he groans.

“Damn it. Damn it. Fuck mylife.”

“Who the hell are you?” I yell, hurrying to grab a knife just in case. Feeling only marginally better now that the biggest one is in my fist, I aim it at him. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”

A delicate keychain with a little pink penis dangling from it lifts in the air, hung around his index finger. “I have a key,” he drawls in exasperation. With a quick scrub down his face, the man finally looks at me, his glasses not moving from his forehead. “You must be Gray.”

My hand lowers briefly, but then I put it right back. “Start talking or I’ll stab you,” I growl.

The man dramatically lets his head fall onto the island counter, just missing his glasses.

“Dude.”

A few seconds tick by, and he lifts his head. “I am not paid nearly enough for this.”

It finally registers that I recognize his nasally voice. I’ve heard itmanytimes on the other end of Hunter’s phone calls. “Alex?”

“The one and only.” His hand flicks out with sarcastic flare. “Put the knife down, kid. Do Ilooklike a home invader?”

“How the hell should I know?”

He slaps his forehead, again, narrowly missing his glasses. It’s like a skill…or something.

“Hunter is MIA. I’ve only had to deal with this twice since he hired me, but I swear to god, if he’s dead in a ditch, I quit.” He folds his arms defiantly. “Whole assquit.”

My heart lurches up my throat. “Dead?Dead?Why would he—what the fuck man! Why are you here?” I wave the knife around.

He studies me for long seconds before smirking. “You’re cool. Alright, so here’s the tea…”

For the next five minutes, he sums up the events that led to Hunter essentially disappearing off the face of the planet. Someone—Xavier—managed to get pictures—plural—of meinside and outside Hunter’s house, and leaked them to the news. All my dirt and some not-so-nice things about his dad are in the article. Alex says this isvery bad press, but not the worst thing ever. He assures me that Hunter’sidentityis well and intact. Not one mention of his sexuality or our relationship is in the article.

By the time he’s done talking, I’m sitting next to him, the knife loose in my fist, and my jaw on my lap. He quickly pops my mouth closed with a flick of his wrist, and I scowl.

“I thought he’d just do what he usually does when everything gets to be too much. Find a quick fuck, get drunk, and Uber home. But as we can see, we are missing a six-foot-something, boring, closeted businessman. So, I’m at a loss.”

My scowl twists into something hideous at the mention of what he could be doing. “He’s not with anyone else,” I grumble.

I don’t know that for sure, but my gut says it’s true. He wouldn’t…he wouldn’t do that. But if everything that Alex said is true, then Hunter is freaking out. Hell, hisdadis going to freak out. And it’s all my fault.

“No,” Alex barks when my face falls. “Don’t start that pity party. It’s too late. We need to find Hunter and do damage control.”

I get off the stool, put the knife away, and glance at the microwave. My heart pinches painfully, and worry strangles me. “What if he’s hurt, Alex?”

“He’s not.”

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